The Curse of the Giant Hogweed Read Online Free PDF Page A

them with a steady, benevolent gaze.
    “Peter, old friend, well met. And this would be an ancestor, or what might perhaps be deemed a prototype, of our esteemed President, in the somewhat surprising and one would have thought inappropriate guise of a Welsh bard.”
    “I be under enchantment,” Torchyld informed him.
    “Ah, that would explain the incongruity.”
    “What I don’t understand,” said Timothy Ames, “is what he’s doing in Wales. The President’s a Swede, at least his ancestors were.”
    “They were Vikings, I believe. Norsemen found the British Isles an ideal target for their acts of pillage and rapine, and no doubt intermarried freely with the natives. Or not, as the case might have been. According to accepted theories of reincarnation, it is possible for the entity to manifest in diverse locations and situations over a wide time span. The druids believed in transmigration, you know, although perhaps possibly not in reincarnation as we regard it.”
    “Who regards it?” barked Timothy Ames. “Go ahead, Dan, tell him his sweetheart’s name.”
    “I gather you expect me to say Sieglinde. She would be a lady of noblest mien and remarkable force of character, perhaps a trifle slender in form for my personal taste but extraordinarily personable withal. Would this gentleman, whom I deem to hight Thorkjeld or a reasonable facsimile thereof, care for further information about his lady?”
    “Yes,” howled Torchyld, bursting into tears again, “where be she?”
    Shandy took it upon himself to explain. “Sir Torchyld’s having a spot of bother with his great-uncle Sfyn.”
    “Dying Jesus,” Tim groaned. “Not that old goat who seduced Hilda Horsefall over at Lumpkin Corners? I thought he was back in Sweden.”
    “Drat it, Tim, whose dream is this, anyway? Let me explain, can’t you? The thing is that King Sfyn, as he happens to be at the moment, whenever the moment may be, has lost his pet griffin. Sir Torchyld is accused of having spirited it away. Therefore, King Sfyn has in turn hidden Lady Syglinde somewhere and says Torchyld can’t have her back until he produces the griffin in reasonable condition.”
    “Why in only reasonable condition?” asked Dan Stott. “Does this griffin have a medical problem?”
    “He’s old, that’s all, and a bit on the hefty side. He’s spry enough otherwise. Isn’t that right, Sir Torchyld?”
    The giant wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “How can I say? Ffyff could be—”
    “Come, come,” said Peter briskly. “Grown-up giants don’t cry. When did you last see Ffyffnyr? That’s the griffin’s name,” he explained in an aside to Ames and Stott.
    “Gin they ken Syglinde’s name, how come they kenned not Ffyff’s?” Torchyld demanded.
    “Our particular branch of the druids happens to specialize in women rather than griffins, that’s all. Please answer the question. Did you see the creature this morning?”
    “Nay. I went perforce on duty at cockcrow. Ffyff never ariseth so early gin he can help it.”
    “Where does he sleep?”
    “Across Great-uncle Sfyn’s threshold, in sooth.”
    “H’m, a well-trained griffin. But you told me Ffyffnyr was in the act of stealing boiled eels off the breakfast table this morning when he disappeared. How did you know that?”
    “Well, he always doth.”
    “Why eels?” Dan Stott wanted to know.
    “They slither down easily. Ffyff has but few fangs left.”
    “Have you tried him on—”
    “Later, Dan,” said Peter. “Then, Sir Torchyld, you don’t actually know whether the griffin did in fact disappear from the banqueting hall.”
    “They all said he did.”
    “Who all?”
    “Aunt Aldora, Aunt Edelgysa, Aunt Gwynedd, Uncle Edmyr, Uncle Edwy, Uncle Edbert, Cousin Dagobert, Cousin Owain, Cousin Gelert, Cousin Gaheris, Cousin Gwendolyn, Cousin Guinevere, Cousin—”
    “Thank you. Precisely how did they say the griffin disappeared?”
    “I told ye, he but went. Poof.”
    “He